


to do a great right, do a little wrong

by violaceum_vitellina_viridis



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bondage, Coming Untouched, Consent Issues, Cunnilingus, Dom Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Dom/sub, Established Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Het Sex, Masturbation, Multi, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Praise Kink, Rope Bondage, Scheming Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Strap-Ons, Sub Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Switch Jaskier | Dandelion, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeur Jaskier | Dandelion, Voyeurism, no beta we die like stregobor fucking should have
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:22:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23276254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violaceum_vitellina_viridis/pseuds/violaceum_vitellina_viridis
Summary: The first time he walks in on them, it’s not just an accident but an honest mistake.The fourth time is, admittedly, not an accident at all.Five times Jaskier watches Yennefer and Geralt together, and one time he joins.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 160
Kudos: 588





	to do a great right, do a little wrong

**Author's Note:**

> O O F okay so this, like my last witcher fic, was _not supposed to be this long._ my misuse of shakespeare quotes is back, as well, though this is a direct quote instead of a butchered one lmao
> 
> tag notes: yennefer and geralt are not, at first, aware of Jaskier's watching them. there is no fall out or ugliness because of this, but that's the reason for the consent tags. let me know if i missed any tags, too, i'm godawful at tagging
> 
> as far as canon and timeline, uh ??? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ i don't know where this would land, and frankly, i don't much care lmao. i've seen the show 4 times, read the first two books, and seen some of wild hunt played. at this point i don't quite remember what bits and pieces come from which source of canon and what comes from fanfic/my own bullshit, so, there's that
> 
> all i want in the world is for geralt and yennefer and jaskier to be in a happy poly relationship and i refuse to apologize
> 
> so yeah. uh. enjoy???

The first time he walks in on them, it’s not just an accident but an honest mistake.

He’s…a little tipsy, he will admit. Not tipsy enough to lose his footing – too much dance training for that – but tipsy enough that he’s a little clumsy, maybe a bit distracted. He fumbles the key to his room from his pocket to his hand, fumbles a little more trying to get it into the door. It doesn’t work. He blinks at the key in his hand, the little, ornate _4_ carved into it, and to the door in front of him. The ornate number in front of his face is a _3,_ which he knows is his room. He blinks again, slowly.

Ah. He grasps it after a moment. He and Geralt have switched keys on accident, then. Oh, well. He’ll just go to Geralt’s room – likely unlocked anyhow, considering the Witcher is, well, a _Witcher_ – and switch the keys, then get into his room and go to bed. He hums a jaunty little tune as we walks the few steps to the next inn door and tries the knob. Unlocked. He nearly laughs. Geralt, really.

He steps inside and realizes that Geralt is in the room already. Funny, he swore Geralt was going out…. Oh, well. It doesn’t much matter. He opens his mouth to speak, but then what he’s really seeing filters through his alcohol-hazed mind and his mouth snaps closed just as quick.

Geralt is across the room. He’s kneeling on the floor, hands on his thighs, head down. The pose itself isn’t that strange – it’s how he meditates, and Jaskier has seen him do it nigh on thousands of times – but there’s a few very _key_ differences, here. (Jaskier chuckles at this own pun in his head. Even shocked and a little drunk, he’s good with his words.)

First, Geralt is near naked. He’s not wearing anything but smallclothes and the leather tie that keeps his hair out of his face. It’s rare that Geralt is this unclothed when he’s not bathing; he prefers to be ready to move at a second’s notice. Jaskier takes in the sight, familiar and unfamiliar all at once. He’s seen all of Geralt, many times, in the many years they’ve been companions – none of it is surprising, or new. But this… _this_ is different. Jaskier couldn’t name the difference if someone paid him, but it’s there.

Second, Geralt is clearly not meditating. When he meditates, he’s completely still – hardly breathes, heart rate even slower than normal. It’s a bit frightening, really, if you’re not prepared for it. But right now, he’s not like that. He’s clearly breathing, quicker than usual, and Jaskier can see his pulse jumping in his throat. He’s still enough, sure, but this is _human_ stillness, not the stillness that Jaskier knows Geralt can achieve.

Third, and – now that Jaskier is thinking through it properly – probably most important, he’s…hard. Jaskier can’t see it very clearly, from this angle, with the direction Geralt is facing, and a very inconvenient potted plant between them, but he can still see it. Despite Geralt’s usual privacy, it’s not the first time Jaskier has seen him with an erection. Nearly twelve years of companionship, they’ve really, truly seen everything of one another. But.

_But._

Jaskier knows he should leave. He’s inebriated – barely, but intoxication is intoxication – and Geralt doesn’t know he’s here. Isn’t expecting him to be. This – whatever this is…. It’s private. Jaskier can see that much. So he should go, close the door quietly, grab the innkeeper for the master key, and go to bed. In his own room.

He doesn’t move.

There’s a breeze, something unnatural; _magic._ It makes the hairs on the back of Jaskier’s neck stand up, makes him feel just a bit more sober than before. He can’t see the portal, but he knows that’s what it is. He’s been around enough to them to pinpoint the feeling. Like he’s suddenly stepped into a cold, dark night, where time feels warped and unreal. He has no idea what could be coming through that portal – or who – but he can’t really focus on worrying about it, because…. Because Geralt. He doesn’t _move._

Jaskier knows he’s gaping a little, watching where Geralt hasn’t shifted a single inch.

Either there’s no danger, or there’s much, much more danger than Jaskier is equipped to deal with. He really, violently hopes it’s the former, though he supposes he’ll find out in a moment. He can hear steps, heels on the worn hardwood, and he turns his head to find Yennefer.

She’s not looking toward him – thank the gods. Instead, she’s focused on Geralt as her portal closes behind her. There’s something different about her, too, the same sort of _different_ that Geralt is, that Jaskier still can’t name. Her eyes are intense, even more violet than normal, even from the distance Jaskier is standing. Her posture is rigid, but it’s not stressed; she’s…in control.

In control of what?

Of Geralt?

Jaskier manages, finally, to close his mouth. Suddenly, he thinks he knows what’s going on here. Or, at least, he has an idea. Maybe? He should _really_ leave now.

His feet still don’t move.

Yennefer stares at Geralt for another few quiet moments before she smiles and chuckles, soft and genuine. Geralt still doesn’t move, but Jaskier can see the way that he releases a little tension; relaxing a little further into his position, breathing going a little deeper, a little more even.

“Good,” Yennefer says softly. “Very good, Geralt. Look at me, love.”

Geralt’s breathing hitches, just a little, enough to be audible, and his lifts his head to look at Yennefer. With the change in angle, Jaskier can see his face more clearly. His eyes, especially, and _oh_. Jaskier bites his lip.

The Witcher looks _wrecked,_ pupils blown and lips red, a flush high on his cheeks. In all their years travelling together, Jaskier has never seen him look like _this_. Aroused, yes, but this is – this is so much…better. This is Geralt not in control of himself. Jaskier’s eyes flick back to Yennefer, where she’s standing in front of Geralt and looking down at him, and yes, she’s definitely the one in control right now.

She reaches out and traces a fingertip over Geralt’s lips, smiling when Geralt trembles in response. “Very good, love,” she repeats, just as soft as before. She sits on the bed, her knees spread wide to accommodate Geralt between them, and beckons him closer.

The way Geralt shuffles forward would be funny in any other situation, but Jaskier doesn’t find it funny now. Instead, he finds it rather captivating. Geralt’s eyes are still trained on Yennefer’s face, his mouth just slightly open where she’d touched his lips. He keeps shuffling forward until his chest hits the edge of the bed, Yennefer’s skirts and legs obscuring all but his elbows to his shoulders and his neck and head from Jaskier’s sight.

Yennefer is still smiling. “You can speak, love.”

“ _Please_ ,” gusts out of Geralt’s mouth on a whine, and Jaskier jolts. He’s never, ever heard Geralt make a sound like that. And he just – keeps. Going. “ _Please_ , Yennefer, I’ve been waiting – I’ve been _good_ – please.”

Yennefer chuckles. She reaches forward a little and tugs the leather tie from Geralt’s hair, tossing it behind her on the bed, then threading her fist through his hair. Geralt shudders fiercely, then does it again when Yennefer grasps his hair in a loose ponytail and pulls, going until Geralt’s head is tipped back, eyes toward the ceiling.

“Yes,” Yennefer murmurs, ducking forward and ghosting her lips over Geralt’s jaw. Jaskier’s teeth clench; it’s not him she’s teasing, but it’s no less frustrating watching it. “Yes, you have been very good, love. What do you think your reward should be, hm?”

Geralt gasps something out, something Jaskier can’t parse, and Yennefer laughs.

“Oh, yes, you are _so_ good for me, love. Of course.” Yennefer tips his back toward her, catching his lips in a kiss. It’s slow but deep and filthy, and even just _watching_ , Jaskier’s toes curl in his boots. He can’t help the way his hand drops to his crotch, cupping the bulge there. He bites his lip bloody to keep in a whimper of pleasure.

Geralt is panting when Yennefer pulls back, but he makes no move to follow her. Instead, his eyes flutter closed, and he breathes out a broken, “Please, Yen,” that makes Yennefer hum.

There’s another tingle of magic in the air, and Geralt gasps, eyes flying open wide and nostrils flaring. The sorceress just laughs and let’s go of his hair, leaving it with one last pet through before she leans back. She drops back onto her elbows, and it looks almost wanton. Her legs are wide around Geralt’s shoulders, and now Jaskier can see the way her chest rises and falls when she breathes, breasts nearly falling out of the top of her dress.

He bites his cheek and squeezes his hand over his erection. He knows he should leave. He should have been gone long before Yennefer arrived, and barring that, he should have left as soon as he realized what was going on. But his feet don’t move, and his eyes stay focused on the two of them, and his hand doesn’t leave his cock.

“Go ahead, love,” Yennefer says after a moment of tense silence, and Geralt moves like a snake.

Jaskier doesn’t even really see him move, but suddenly he’s ducked down, under the skirt of Yennefer’s dress, hidden almost entirely by the fabric but for his backside, now in the air, and the way Jaskier can see the shape of his head under the dress. Jaskier bites back a gasp at the spectacle and squeezes his hand again, the slow burn of arousal fanning into an inferno in his gut.

Yennefer gasps, a delicate, hardly-there sound, and then there’s the sound of Geralt’s mouth. Wet and sucking and _filthy_ , his head shifting almost frantically underneath Yennefer’s dress. Yennefer tips her head back and lets out a moan, arms trembling a little where she’s propped on her elbows. Jaskier is taken in by her, for a moment. Shapely lips, open in a small ‘o’ of pleasure, turquoise-painted eyelids fluttering over violet eyes nearly eclipsed by the black of her pupil. The way the star of her necklace shifts as she starts to pant.

It’s a bare handful of minutes later that she comes, letting out a short, sharp shout and reaching forward to grab Geralt’s head through her dress. She holds him in place, hips shifting up and back – grinding against Geralt’s face, and Jaskier almost comes undone at that sight alone. Finally, after a tense few seconds, she lets go and collapses back, panting wildly with her eyes closed. The wet sounds continue, softer and not as quick. Yennefer’s leg twitches and kicks a little.

Finally, when Yennefer has stopped trembling, Geralt pulls back. It takes him a moment to fight backward out of the tangle of her skirts, but he does it, and Jaskier bites through his lip to stop himself from making a sound at the sight of the Witcher.

His eyes are even darker now, hardly even a ring of burnt gold around his pupils, and his lips are swollen. He’s flushed from his forehead to his chest, which is still heaving with gasping breaths, and his face is wet from his nose to his throat. He’s looking at Yennefer with an edge of desperation that translates into the tension of his body, the way his hands keep twitching on his thighs.

Yennefer sits up slowly, grinning, and swipes a finger through the slick on Geralt’s face. When she offers it, Geralt takes it into his mouth like it’s water offered to a dying man. Jaskier squeezes his cock so hard it hurts.

“You can let go, love,” Yennefer murmurs, her finger still in Geralt’s mouth. “You’ve been so good.”

For a moment, nothing happens. Jaskier wonders what Yennefer meant, what she was telling Geralt to do, and then –

Geralt _comes_.

Jaskier can see the way his body tenses, the way his hips jerk, and just barely, the wetness that spreads across the front of his smallclothes. It goes on for a long, drawn out moment; Geralt, still with Yennefer’s finger in his mouth, is making broken-off, weak noises, like he’s in pain but not quite, and Yennefer is smiling softly down at him the whole time.

Jaskier finally gets his feet to move.

He ducks out of the room and closes the door as quietly as he can, then practically runs to the communal washroom, slamming the door shut and leaning against it. His cock is throbbing, but he keeps his hands away, arousal and guilt and shame all spinning through him at breakneck speeds.

He stays in the washroom, panting against the door, until his erection flags. Only once he’s settled, breathing normally and completely soft, does he leave and find the innkeeper to unlock his room.

* * *

The second time he walks in on them, it’s still an accident.

He’s not tipsy this time. In fact, he’s very, very disappointingly _sober._ He doesn’t have the money for enough ale, and the people here aren’t really a fan of his particular brand of entertainment, and he’s grumpy. He and Geralt are sharing a room this time around, nothing new when coin is low. Since the last…incident, that Geralt still doesn’t know about – or, if he does, he’s being mercifully quiet about it – Jaskier has taken to knocking when he’s about to enter a room Geralt might be in. If Geralt thought it weird, he isn’t mentioning that, either.

He doesn’t knock this time, too embroiled in his own bad mood. He doesn’t even look up from his feet until the door is shut behind him, and by then, it’s much too late.

Geralt isn’t kneeling this time. No, this time he’s lying on the bed, sprawled out and once again, mostly naked. Just smallclothes this time, his hair entirely free to fan out on the pillow and stick to his sweaty forehead. He’s panting as if he’s been running, but nothing is happening that Jaskier can see; just Geralt, lying spread-eagle on the bed, cock tenting his smallclothes. Alone.

Jaskier wonders how long that will last.

He finds he’s just as incapable of moving this time as he was the last. Shame wars with excitement in his gut, both hot and roiling. He can’t move his feet from their spot or his eyes from Geralt.

It’s nothing but that for several long moments. Geralt is still panting, but it’s slowing, his breathing not going back to normal for him, but normal for a human, and Jaskier is simply watching, marveling at the way Geralt tenses and relaxes in turns, the way his cock twitches randomly.

Jaskier doesn’t look away when he feels the portal. Geralt’s eyes fly open, though, and his mouth, too, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just looks toward the portal – toward Yennefer – with clear desperation in his face.

Yennefer doesn’t speak at first. Jaskier looks to see her standing at the edge of the bed and looking over Geralt rather dispassionately, one hand on her hip. She tuts, and Geralt jerks, makes a broken noise.

“Get rid of your smallclothes,” she says, and her voice is…cold. Different from last time, but still commanding. Geralt still moves quickly to obey the order, stripping himself of his remaining cover and flinging it away as if it has burned him.

Jaskier tries very hard not to swallow his tongue.

Yennefer is still looking at Geralt, face a mask of disinterest, and Jaskier wonders what’s different this time. Last time, she had seemed so warm, at least compared to her usual attitude. This time, she looks about as giving as inch-thick ice. Geralt seems very effected by it, too, going back to panting with that same desperate look on his face.

“I’m disappointed,” Yennefer says, abruptly, and Geralt whines. Jaskier suddenly understands, at least a little bit. Maybe, he thinks. Yennefer continues on, though, and he listens, just as raptly as Geralt does. “You’re usually so good, love. But you weren’t good this time, were you?”

Geralt whines again, but his throat works, and he nods. “I wasn’t,” he agrees.

Yennefer hums. “But,” she says, and a little bit of the warmth Jaskier remembers seeps back into her voice. “You were honest with me, when I asked.”

Geralt swallows audibly. “I was.”

Another hum. Yennefer takes off the gloves she’s wearing, tosses them to the side, and starts undressing. She doesn’t go far, just removing her dress, but it’s the most of her Jaskier has seen since the djinn. He bites his lip bloody to stay quiet, again, still completely unable to step back. To leave.

Instead, he keeps watching.

“I want you to be good, love,” Yennefer says, once she’s down to her own rather pretty smallclothes and a sort of slip over them. “I know you want to be good.”

“I do,” Geralt gasps out. “I want to be good, Yen.”

Yennefer smiles, just a little. She kneels up on the bed, between the spread of Geralt’s thighs, and makes herself comfortable. Geralt seems to be holding his breath the entire time, and Jaskier is, too.

“I think you should make it up to me,” Yennefer says, once she’s settled. “Don’t you?”

Geralt nods. “Yes,” he pants. “Yes, please, Yen. I’ll do anything.”

Jaskier’s heart hurts, a little, seeing Geralt so desperate. The coldness is still there in Yennefer’s tone, but it’s different now, and somehow, he knows that she’ll take care of the Witcher. A tension he didn’t realize he was holding releases.

“Of course you will,” Yen agrees. “Because you’re good, Geralt, aren’t you? Even if sometimes you make mistakes. You’re good.”

Geralt makes a high pitched, broken noise, eyes squeezing shut as he tosses his head back. Yen tuts.

“I want you to say it, Geralt. Be good for me.”

Another broken whine slips out of Geralt, and there’s a tense silence before he opens his eyes. He takes a deep, chest-expanding breath, and nods. “I can be good,” he says, and the way he says it is like a mantra, as if he’s had to repeat it many times. “Sometimes…sometimes, I make. M-mistakes. But I can be good.”

Yennefer smiles, the softest, most genuine one of the night. Jaskier chews his lip. “Good, Geralt. You’re right, you know. You’re so very good, even when you make mistakes. Even now. You were honest with me, remember?”

Geralt nods, making a choked sound in the back of his throat.

Yennefer sits up a little, leaning forward and placing her hand over Geralt’s throat. It’s something that would look like a threat in any other situation; it looks a little threatening here, all the same. But Geralt simply tilts his head back, lets her press her hand there, and closes his eyes.

Jaskier’s cock throbs in his breeches and he presses his palm hard against it.

“I know what I want,” Yennefer says after a moment of stroking her thumb over Geralt’s neck. “Would you like to know how you can make it up to me, love?”

Geralt gasps. “Please, Yen.”

Yennefer hums, leaning a little back and trailing her palm from Geralt’s throat over his collar, down his chest, to his stomach. “I want you to tell me exactly what you want, right now,” she says, slowly and quietly. She’s watching her hand, not Geralt.

Geralt’s eyes go wide, and he looks – frightened. Genuinely scared, an expression Jaskier’s only seen on his face a handful of times. Jaskier’s heart thumps hard, once, in his chest, and he aches a little. He wants to comfort Geralt. But he’s not even supposed to be witnessing this, and he’s definitely not supposed to try and _participate._ He tamps down on the urge and instead looks back to Yennefer. She’s looking up at Geralt now, seemingly unfazed by his terror.

She’s waiting. For what, Jaskier’s not sure, not until she speaks again.

“Do you remember your word, Geralt?” she asks, and there’s something in her tone that makes Geralt and Jaskier both relax, it seems. Geralt slumps back into the bed, and his eyes close.

“Yes,” he says, simply.

“Tell me.”

“Ragamuffin.”

Yennefer hums. “Good. Do you need to use it, Geralt?”

Geralt heaves a deep breath and shakes his head. “No.”

“I’m glad.” Yennefer smiles again, small and almost secret. “Now, do you think you can give me what I want, Geralt?”

Geralt takes another heaving breath. “I – I don’t know.”

Yennefer hums and nods. Her palm moves back from Geralt’s stomach to his throat, and then back down. She’s…petting him, it seems. “I know it’s hard, love,” she murmurs. “But it’s what I want. I want you to tell me exactly what you want, right now, at this exact moment, and I want to do it for you.”

Geralt’s next deep breath is shaky, and his eyes are still closed. His hands are fisted in the sheets, and Jaskier notices for the first time that he’s no longer hard. “I…want to try.”

Yennefer’s soft petting moves up, past Geralt’s throat, to his face. She traces his lips with her thumb, caresses his cheek, runs fingers through his hair. “Take all of the time you need, love.”

Jaskier realizes, with a jolt, that this is his chance. He could leave right now, and he wouldn’t see anything further, wouldn’t betray Geralt’s trust more than he already has. He swallows his heart and, as quietly as he can, he opens the door and slips out.

He spends the rest of the evening wondering what it was that Geralt wanted. Wondering how long it took him to tell Yennefer, or if maybe he wasn’t able to, after all. If maybe he’d had to say _ragamuffin_ instead. He wonders, too, what Yennefer would do if Geralt had said that instead of what he wanted.

He manages to find a pretty barmaid to spend his night with, and it’s fun enough even without his heart in it. He doesn’t return til morning.

* * *

The third time, it’s still an accident, but only barely. A calculated accident.

At least, that’s what Jaskier is calling it in his head. He’d known there might be a chance, tonight, because he’s started to notice a pattern. Maybe. He hasn’t been watching _that_ closely, it’s just that he and Geralt have been travelling together for longer than usual this time around – nothing else for Jaskier to do, and Geralt hasn’t sent him away – and he’s been…noticing things.

He’s stopped knocking on doors. He’s not sure if that’s because the desire to see Geralt and Yennefer together outweighs his shame, or because he felt like Geralt had started to notice it. He doesn’t care to analyze it enough to find out.

This inn is old, and creaky. It’s a small miracle that Geralt got any sleep the first night they stayed; with every little movement anyone made, the walls would shudder and creak. The roof cracked all night as it cooled. But Geralt had, apparently, slept fine. Jaskier was glad for it.

That said, with how noisy the wood of the inn is, he’s sure he’ll be heard coming. If there’s something going on in their room tonight – sharing again, this time because it was the only room left – Geralt should be able to get up and lock him out. Or tell him to stay out, something.

Not that Jaskier is _expecting_ anything to happen, and not that he _wants_ it to. It’s just…a possibility, he thinks, but he’s sure it won’t happen again. Because the inn is creaky, and Geralt should be able to hear Jaskier coming from a mile away.

Or…not.

The door swings open on its squeaky hinges, surely a dead giveaway, but what Jaskier sees doesn’t stop. No, in fact, it appears Geralt and Yennefer are just as unaware of his presence right now as they have been the last two times, despite the noise of the door. Despite the gasp that Jaskier can’t hold back.

Yennefer is knelt on the bed, between Geralt’s thighs, much like last time, but this time Geralt is tied up. His arms are stretched above him, surrounded by soft purple silk, muscles straining. Jaskier knows that Geralt could shred that silk as easily as he can take a breath, so he _wants_ to be kept. To be tied down, at Yennefer’s mercy.

Jaskier’s cock fills with blood so fast he goes a little lightheaded.

Yennefer, for her part, is focused on Geralt entirely. One hand is over Geralt’s chest, over his heart, and the other is low, between his thighs. Jaskier just catches a glimpse of her fingers, glistening as they pull out of Geralt’s body and then dive back in. Her gaze flickers back and forth between the hand fingering Geralt and the Witcher’s face, where his eyes are squeezed shut and his mouth is open.

“So good, love,” she breathes, after a moment, and she sounds just as affected as Geralt looks. Jaskier shudders where he stands, mouth still gaping open. “So very good.”

Geralt whines, and his hips jerk up. Yennefer laughs.

“Not yet, love, not yet. You know what I want, don’t you?”

Geralt’s mouth works, open and closed again and again, for a long moment. Yennefer’s fingers never stop moving. “Yes,” Geralt finally gasps out. His eyes flutter open to look at her, and he groans.

Yennefer laughs again. “Good, love. Then you know what you have to do.”

Geralt nods, a little erratically, then whimpers when Yennefer does something with her fingers. She stops moving them, at least in and out; her arm stills and Geralt starts to shake, his shuddering making the bedframe creak ominously.

“Yen,” he gasps out, “Yen, please, _Yennefer._ Please – I – I want – please make me come, Yennefer, please. I’ll be good, I swear it – _please_.”

Yennefer grins and starts thrusting again. “Good, Geralt,” she purrs. “Very good. Just a little more, hmm? You know what I want to hear.”

Geralt sucks in a breath so deep that it must hurt. Jaskier chews his lip to shreds and waits, cock throbbing in time with the way Geralt’s hips jerk.

“Yen,” he starts, breaking off to moan, then starting again, “Yennefer, please. I want – I want you to make me come, u-until – I can’t anymore. _Please._ ”

“And what will you give me for it?”

“ _Anything_ ,” Geralt sounds achingly desperate, but also deeply sincere, “absolutely _anything_ you want, _please._ ”

Yennefer laughs again. “Good,” she coos. “Very well, Geralt. You’ve been so very good today. I want you to come.”

And Geralt _does._ As if her words were a switch flipped, Geralt’s entire body seizes, and then starts to pulse. Yennefer doesn’t stop her ministrations, simply grinning wickedly and keeping pace. Geralt is sobbing, but he doesn’t say anything, hands scrabbling at the headboard where he’s tied.

Jaskier ducks out of the room before his own orgasm can overwhelm him. He barely makes it to the washroom before he makes a mess of his pants like a schoolboy.

* * *

The fourth time is, admittedly, not an accident at all.

Jaskier knew that Yennefer was here. They’d come to this town to meet her, after all, and their monster was already dealt with. But they were staying for a few days. To stock up on supplies, ostensibly, but Jaskier wasn’t an idiot. A fool and foolish, maybe, but he was hardly _stupid._

So, when he carefully opens the door to Geralt’s room in the inn, he expects Yennefer to be there. Or, if she’s not, he expects her to arrive shortly.

He finds she’s already there, lounging in the bed, looking every bit the terrifying, powerful sorceress she is. Jaskier swallows the saliva that pools in his mouth when he looks over her naked body. She’s beautiful, and that’s not something that’s _news_ to him, but still. It’s hard to ignore, with her sprawled out like that.

Geralt is across the room, in a chair. He’s clearly bound, even if there’s no silks or rope now; magic, Jaskier knows, is just as effective. His eyes are wide and blown and he’s staring at Yennefer, not quite desperate, but close.

“Remember,” Yennefer says, after a long moment of a heated staring contest. “You did ask for this.”

Geralt swallows and nods. “I did.”

“So no complaining. As far as I’m concerned, this is a _reward_ for you.”

“Yes,” Geralt nods, even though he doesn’t look like he feels the same. “Please, Yen.”

Yennefer laughs and trails a fingertip down her body, between her breasts, over her stomach, to her hips. She stops there and traces the bones, just slightly protruding. Jaskier has to swallow again. Geralt, it seems, isn’t much better off. He grunts, seemingly struggling against his bonds for a second, but it doesn’t last long. Yennefer gives him a look, something that makes Jaskier shudder too, and he falls still once more.

“Good,” Yennefer praises. “Be patient. You wanted to watch what I do when no one is around, so you’ll just have to deal with the pace I choose. Hmm?”

“Yes, Yennefer,” Geralt growls out. He looks so hungry, still only bordering on desperate, and it’s as if Jaskier can feel it, too. He’s just as riveted by the show as the Witcher, though he’s equally interested in how Geralt is doing during.

Yennefer laughs again. That same single fingertip traces over her opposite hip, down her thigh, and back up. This time, when she traces back down, she detours to circle a nipple. Jaskier tries not to swallow his tongue, and Geralt makes a broken noise; at least they’re in the same boat.

Even if neither of them know Jaskier is here.

The shame is still there, but it’s much, much dimmer now than it was at first. Jaskier isn’t sure what that says about him, but he’s not going to think on it. There’s better things to do right now.

Namely, watching as Yennefer teases herself, her breathing starting to hitch a little as her nipples harden visibly. She stays at her chest for a long moment, tracing around her nipples, slowly starting to undulate into the movement. Geralt, at this point, is breathing like an animal in rut; he’s not really straining against his bonds so much as he’s just straining in general. Jaskier licks his lips and tries to make himself leave.

He’s no more successful this time as he has been the last three, and he still doesn’t feel as much shame for that as he should.

Yennefer finally touches herself, gently pinching the hard nub of her nipple between her fingers, and the sound she makes is downright shameless. Jaskier’s cock throbs so hard his knees nearly buckle. Geralt, for his part, makes a sound like someone punched him in the sternum – a sound Jaskier is rather familiar with, actually – and then _whimpers._

All that gets from Yennefer is yet another laugh, though this time it’s breathy and a little broken by the way her breath is still hitching.

“Do you want to know what I think about, Geralt?”

Geralt doesn’t speak, but he nods so hard Jaskier’s a little worried he might pull something.

“Mmm,” Yennefer hums and tilts her head back, bringing up a second hand. She’s still just playing with her nipples, pinching and stroking over them in a sort of halting pattern. Every few seconds she makes a soft, sweet little noise, before she continues on. “Do you remember that time in Novigrad?”

Geralt makes a filthy, broken noise. Yennefer hums, pleased, and moans softly. Jaskier assumes that Geralt’s non answer was in fact a yes.

“I think about how you looked that night,” Yennefer continues. The longer she talks, the breathier she gets. “That was the first night you gave in.”

Jaskier doesn’t have any ideas what that means – though he could come up with a few, and they’re all much too hot for him to be thinking about right now, if he wants to stay hidden – but Geralt clearly does.

He tosses his head back and pants raggedly for a moment, then husks out, “I wanted to be yours.”

Yennefer giggles, and Jaskier is captivated as her hands finally move away from her breasts. “Yes, and you fought it every step of the way. Until that night.” She scratches up her inner thighs, leaving thin red lines, and moans as she does it.

Jaskier squeezes his cock and bites a hole through his cheek.

“Yennefer,” Geralt gasps. “Please.”

Yennefer hums, hands roving over her thighs. Her head is tipped back, against the pillows, and her hair is fanning out behind her like a dark halo; she looks like something divine, and Jaskier suddenly understands just a bit better why Geralt is so obsessed. It would be hard to look at Yennefer like this and not fall to your knees in her service.

“Patience,” she finally murmurs, and her voice has gone lower, darker. Jaskier shudders. Geralt does too, from the sound of the chair creaking. “I’m remembering the first time you knelt for me.”

Jaskier’s cheek is bleeding, quite a lot, now. He just swallows the blood and bites again, watching as Geralt’s face runs through several emotions in quick succession. Desperation, and arousal, and a sort of glazed-over look of remembering, and then desperation again, and the scowl he gets when he’s trying very hard to hold something back. Jaskier wonders what on earth he could be holding back right now.

“You look very good on your knees,” Yennefer continues. Jaskier has to wholeheartedly agree with her there. “So very good. All that power, tucked so small and obedient.”

Geralt rumbles something halfway between a growl and a groan. Jaskier keeps biting his cheek and swallowing the blood.

Yennefer seems as if she’s finally caught up to Geralt’s desperation, though. She slips a hand over her pubis and hums, then moans when she pushes her fingers down through her folds. The sound is obscene, and the sight even more so; she’s glistening wet and flushed with blood, from where her fingers are massaging to her face. “ _Oh,_ ” she murmurs, sounding shocked. “Mmm, feels…much better with an audience.”

The chair Geralt is bound to creaks dangerously, and Yennefer laughs. There’s a tingle of magic in the air and Geralt grunts. Strengthening the bonds, probably. Jaskier swallows blood-tinged saliva and tries very hard not to blink, eyes flicking rapid-fire between where Yennefer is pleasuring herself and where Geralt is watching her.

The Witcher looks half-rabid, mouth dropped open and growling continuously, a low-level sound that Jaskier is sure isn’t intentional. If Jaskier didn’t know the gold of Geralt’s eyes so well, he’d have no idea what their color is, Geralt’s pupils are blown so wide. His hair is plastered to his forehead and neck with sweat, and Jaskier could count his pulse from the jump in his throat and the twitch of his cock.

Jaskier’s mouth is suddenly very, very dry.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Yennefer hisses, and Jaskier watches, mouth going drier, as she pushes two fingers inside herself. “ _Geralt._ ”

Geralt whimpers. Jaskier looks back to find his head has tipped back and his eyes are squeezed shut, but that only lasts as long as it takes for Yennefer to moan again. When she does, Geralt’s head snaps back up, eyes unerringly focused on the sorceress.

Yennefer fucks herself on her fingers for several minutes, hitched breathing slowly turning into panting, into gasping. Geralt is just as noisy as her, growling and groaning and, eventually, begging.

“Please, Yen,” his throat clicks audibly as he swallows, “please – I want to watch you come.”

Yennefer’s fingers move a little faster, and she doesn’t acknowledge Geralt for a long moment. When she does, it’s just to breathe out, “Patience, Geralt,” as she brings her other hand into play, circling her clit.

Jaskier is going to be discovered this time. There’s no way he won’t. Between the show Yennefer is putting on and the fact that it’s completely wrecking Geralt, he’s doomed. He can’t make himself leave, can’t give up the chance to see this, even though he knows he _should_. He’s also dangerously close to the edge.

He bites a hole through his lip to match the one in his cheek and squeezes himself hard enough to hurt.

“Mmm,” Yennefer hums and arches into her own hands, the one teasing her clit going from teasing to massaging in slow little circles. Her thighs tremble. “ _Oh._ ”

Geralt growls, louder than before, and Yennefer gasps out a laugh. “You’ll get what you want, love,” she pants, fingers moving just a bit faster. “And more.”

Geralt groans, and the chair creaks ominously again. There’s no additional tingle of magic this time, though, Yennefer apparently too distracted by what she’s doing to ensure that Geralt is contained. That thought alone is enough to make Jaskier’s knees shake. He squeezes his hand harder, clenches his jaw to keep quiet.

He can tell when she’s about to come. Geralt can, too, it seems. He’s suddenly stock-still, nostrils flared as he practically glares at Yennefer, but Jaskier can still see where his pulse is racing. Yennefer is gasping out tiny little sounds, nonsense and Geralt’s name, her back in a tight arch as her fingers move faster and faster, until finally –

She comes with a loud whine, still twisted tight and trembling for a split second before her entire body relaxes down into the bed, her legs and arms sprawling wide. She’s grinning even as her chest heaves for breath, and Jaskier _feels_ the magic break. As soon as his bonds are gone, Geralt is across the space and on the bed, leaning down and grabbing Yennefer’s hands.

He licks them clean. Jaskier forces himself to stumble backwards out the door under the cover of the filthy sound Yennefer makes in response to it.

He doesn’t spill in his pants this time, but it’s a near thing, and he never makes it to a washroom. Instead, he pulls himself off with barely three strokes, right there in the hallway, biting his tongue bloody as well to keep quiet.

* * *

The fifth time is an accident again.

They’re staying in a lovely little cottage, courtesy of Yennefer and her likely less-than-benevolent ways, while Geralt hunts a group of vampires that seem to have formed a pack. The vampires have been terrorizing this tiny town for nigh on six months, and Yennefer had been the one to call their attention to it. Yennefer, for her part, has been mostly consoling the people in the village and helping them with small charms and other nonsense, as well as helping Geralt stock up on his potions.

Jaskier has been relegated to errand boy.

It’s not much different than what he usually does when he travels with Geralt, but he’s slightly miffed by the glee that Yennefer takes in sending him out for all manner of things. Though he will admit, the fact that she has been rather friendly toward him despite the ordering him around has been nice.

The cottage is just slightly out of town, on some land that seems worthless for farming, but is apparently wonderful for chickens. (Jaskier’s been finding feathers in everything from his boots to his _mouth_ , and it’s disconcerting to say the least.) Because of its distance, whenever Jaskier gets sent to the village for an errand, it takes him at least twenty minutes to return, if not longer.

Which is the only explanation for how Yennefer and Geralt had the time for this.

Geralt is tied up again, much more elaborately this time, with dark rope. It’s crisscrossed over his chest and wrapped in a pretty pattern over his thighs and arms. For the most part it seems decorative, though Jaskier can see the sections of rope that secure the Witcher to the bed. He’s on his knees, with his arms behind his back; his head is dipped low, enough that his chin is probably touching his chest, and he’s clearly meditating. He’s much too still to be doing anything else.

Yennefer, Jaskier finds when he looks around the room, is digging through a cabinet with a positively delighted look on her face. He doesn’t really see what she pulls out – something made of leather, but that’s all he can discern.

She takes her prize to the bed and sets it in front of Geralt, where Jaskier can’t see, and climbs up onto the bed with the Witcher. She strokes slowly over his shoulders, down his back and arms, over his thighs. Geralt doesn’t move, though Jaskier knows he must be aware of her presence. Yennefer is still grinning, looking like the cat that got the cream, when she makes Geralt lift his head, probably to look her in the eye.

“Do you like your present, love?” she asks, and Geralt shivers in his bondage.

“Yes,” he whispers. There’s something different about his voice, something off, but Jaskier can’t pin it. Yennefer doesn’t seem concerned, just leaning in and kissing him and then turning, bending to do something with the leather contraption.

After a moment of movement, Yennefer climbs off of the bed and Jaskier gets a proper look at what the thing is.

He nearly swallows his tongue and has to muffle a cough.

It is leather, he can see. Leather straps, wrapped tightly around Yennefer’s thighs and hips and waist, and, protruding from the center of the harness, a very well-made, wooden cock. The wood is light in color and varnished to an almost blinding shine; Jaskier imagines it’s probably as smooth as glass.

She walks around the bed to the little cupboard that sits next to it and digs around in it for a moment. Geralt starts to tremble finely, and Yennefer chuckles softly.

Jaskier bites back a groan. He almost wants to leave now, sure that he won’t be able to handle whatever is coming next, but he doesn’t go. He knows at this point he won’t.

Yennefer finally finds what she’s looking for, standing up and tossing it onto the bed next to Geralt’s knee. A little bottle of oil. Jaskier’s heartrate ratchets up quickly, and Geralt’s does too, judging by the little whine that breaks out from him. Yennefer chuckles again, petting his thigh, and turns to walk back around the bed.

And makes direct eye contact with Jaskier.

Jaskier feels as if he’s jumped out of his skin, but he knows that he hasn’t moved. In fact, he’s completely frozen, and no matter how loudly his inner critic screams, he can’t seem to move.

Yennefer raises an eyebrow, but then, a grin breaks out over her face.

“I think I want you to do something just a little different today, love,” she says, all without looking away from Jaskier. While she waits for Geralt to process that, she brings a finger up to her own mouth. _Shhh._

Jaskier swallows the panicked lump in his throat and nods. He takes a slow step back, meaning to go, but Yennefer’s eyes narrow and she shakes her head. He stops, feeling his eyebrows climb to his hairline. Yennefer just keeps giving him that narrow-eyed stare, and just as slowly as he moved back, he moves forward again, until he’s standing where he was. He’s just inside the doorway to the bedroom, partially hidden by the door on his side.

Yennefer’s grin comes back, wicked and scheming, and she nods. Once again, she presses one upright finger to her lips. _Shhh._

Jaskier swallows that lump again and nods.

Yennefer nods back, and then it’s as if none of it ever happened when she turns back to Geralt.

“What do you think, love? Do you want to do something a little different?”

Geralt swallows audibly. “I want to do whatever you want to, Yen.”

Yennefer hums and climbs back onto the bed, behind Geralt this time. “Mm, of course you do. So very good, love, always so good.”

Geralt makes a soft noise, and Jaskier’s heart thuds as he watches Geralt slowly collapse back, until he’s leaning into Yennefer. Yennefer wraps on arm around his chest and the other around his waist and takes his weight, kissing his ear.

“Before I tell you what I want, love, can you give me your word?”

“Ragamuffin,” Geralt answers easily. The reminder – of the fact that they have a _safeword_ , and the second time he watched them – makes Jaskier shudder. 

“Very good. I want you to use it if you need to. You will, right, love?”

This conversation is different even than the similar one that Jaskier has already heard. It’s…gentler. He wonders what Yennefer wants from Geralt, that she feels like she needs to hash this out again.

“I will,” Geralt promises, voice sincere.

Yennefer hums and kisses his ear again. With her lips pressed to the lobe, she whispers something that Jaskier can’t hear. Geralt shudders so hard the ropes binding him creak, and Jaskier’s cock throbs.

“Is that okay, love?”

Geralt makes a low sound. “Yes, Yen,” he says.

Yennefer smiles, and then gently pushes Geralt back up, letting go of her grips on him. Geralt sways for a second, but finds his balance again, muscles tensing. Yennefer traces over his skin once more, his shoulders and arms and legs, fingertips following the rope.

“You look so good tied up, love,” she murmurs. She sounds downright awed, and Jaskier bites back a whimper. He feels the same, but there’s something so different about hearing Yennefer express that awe so vocally. Even though she’s been much nicer to him, she’s still a lot like a stone wall in terms of emotional warmth. He’s known, obviously, because of his voyeurism, that she changes around Geralt. But it’s still amazing to watch.

Even better when he knows that _she_ knows what she’s showing him. She’s letting the wall down for Jaskier right now, willingly.

A little shame burns in his belly, still, because Geralt doesn’t know. But he thinks – Yennefer does. Maybe she’s already told Geralt, when she whispered in his ear. Maybe she’ll tell him later, if not. It’s not just _his_ secret, if it’s still a secret now.

Yennefer stops her tracing and brings her hands back up to Geralt’s shoulders and pushes. Slowly, she tips him forward – Jaskier can see the way he’s tensing to slow his descent – until his shoulders meet the bed. Geralt turns his head so he can breathe, and from this angle, Jaskier can see his mouth, where it’s hanging open. His lips are swollen, and Jaskier wonders, with a little thrill, how they got that way.

“Alright, love?” Yennefer asks.

Geralt doesn’t really answer, not really, but a content sort of purr rumbles from his chest, and Yennefer laughs.

“Good. Very good, love.” She goes back to her tracing now, fingertips following the rope over Geralt’s arms and thighs, then to where a gap in the ties frames his ass. Geralt gasps loudly when her hands frame his cheeks. With a small shift to the side – intentional, Jaskier is sure – Yennefer bares all of it. Jaskier can see Geralt’s hole, pink and tight, and were the skin around it, on his ass, is even paler than the rest of him. The way he’s tied makes it impossible for him to close his legs, and his cock hangs heavy in view, as well.

Jaskier shoves his fist in his mouth and his hand down his pants.

Yennefer picks up the vial of oil and opens it, pouring a small amount on her palm and more directly over Geralt’s hole. Geralt groans, then whines, entire body moving as he undulates his hips back, toward Yennefer.

Yennefer chuckles. Her fingers slick now, she rubs over Geralt’s slippery hole with her thumb, clearly a tease. Geralt growls and whimpers and moans, but none of it makes the sorceress hurry up. “Patience, Geralt,” she murmurs. “No reason to involve pain in this. Not right now.” The implications of that make Jaskier shiver.

The resulting groan sounds just as dejected and begging as the others, but Geralt’s movement stills and he seems to relax further into the bed and his ropes. Yennefer strokes a hand up his back and very, very slowly sinks her pointer finger inside of him.

The sound Geralt makes at that will haunt Jaskier’s dreams for the rest of his life. It’s a broken, keening whine, something so wanton Jaskier is almost sure Geralt can’t possibly have made it. But then he makes it _again,_ and Jaskier can see the way his teeth grit just before his mouth falls slack again, and Jaskier has to squeeze the base of his cock to stop himself from coming immediately.

Yennefer hums, and it sounds almost more like a moan. “Very good, love,” she murmurs, and starts moving her finger at a snail’s pace. Geralt just whimpers and raises his hips as much as he can in his position, clearly trying to beg with his body. Yennefer ignores the desperation clear in his body language and keeps up her slow, steady pace.

By the time she’s tracing the little ring of muscle with a second finger, every one of Geralt’s exhales is a small, broken moan. He heaves when she finally pushes the second finger inside, a choked little growl spilling from his lips. Yennefer pets his back, his ass, and keeps the same pace as before.

It’s been a small eternity by the time she decides that Geralt is ready. Jaskier’s cock is throbbing in his hand, and he can’t imagine what Geralt feels like right now. The Witcher has been reduced to mumbling, incoherent noises and jerky movement.

“Are you ready, love?” Yennefer asks, and even Jaskier knows she’s just being cruel.

Geralt whimpers. “ _Please._ ”

Yennefer laughs and mercifully – for them both – slicks up the wooden toy. Her eyes flutter shut while she does it, and for a moment Jaskier thinks its for show, but then he can feel the magic.

Oh, that’s just unfair. Jaskier squeezes his cock so hard it hurts his cock and his knuckles and bites his knuckle bloody between his teeth. Yennefer strokes the cock for a moment, seemingly just enjoying the sensation, before she shuffles a little on her knees and shifts Geralt the slightest bit.

Jaskier doesn’t know what she’s done until she sets the head of the toy to Geralt’s fluttering hole. He can see everything now, nothing blocked by Yennefer’s body. His knuckle bone grinds against his teeth and he squeezes his eyes shut, just for a moment, a reprieve from the scorching hotness of everything that’s happening right now.

When he opens his eyes again, Yennefer is looking right at him again, a knowing smirk on her face. He only doesn’t flip her off because he’s not sure he can trust himself to stay quiet or not come right now. He settles on a glare that’s probably ruined completely by his hands in his mouth and pants.

Yennefer’s smirk just widens, proving that particular theory. She shifts her hips, just enough to grind the head of the toy against Geralt’s hole, but not enough to push inside. Geralt makes a sharp noise and jerks back, but doesn’t catch it.

“Do you remember what I want, Geralt?” Yennefer asks. She’s still looking straight at Jaskier, and his face is surely tomato red.

“Yes,” Geralt gasps out. “Please, Yennefer. I’m – I want to be fucked so badly, _please._ ”

That, apparently, takes Yennefer off guard. She shudders, eyes slamming shut, and her lip blanches where she bites it. Her hips jerk, grinding the toy over Geralt’s crack again.

“Geralt,” she murmurs, voice husky, and Geralt responds with a shimmy of his hips. Yennefer opens her eyes again, giving Jaskier one more lingering look before she turns her full attention back to Geralt and the way he’s begging for her cock.

Slowly, even slower than the way she fingered him, she pushes the toy into the Witcher. Geralt whines, long and low and continuous, and Jaskier is sure he’s going to leave a scar in the shape of his teeth on his fingers. It takes several minutes before she’s in to the hilt of the toy, the harness pressed against Geralt’s ass.

“How do you feel, love?”

Geralt makes a high, broken sound, hips jerking as much as they can. Yennefer doesn’t move, simply squeezes her eyes shut and waits. It takes a long moment, but Geralt eventually pants out, “So good, so good, Yen, please, I need you to move, _please fuck me_ – ”

Yennefer laughs and jerks her hips, a short, sharp thrust that barely takes the cock out of Geralt any before it’s shoved back in. Geralt makes a sound like he’s been punched and goes almost entirely lax.

“So very good, my love,” Yennefer praises. “Now, give me what I want. Will you?”

“Yes,” Geralt pants. “Please move, I’ll – I’ll do what you asked, please.”

“Good.”

With that, it seems Yennefer is done with slow. She rolls her hips back, then forward, and settles into a quick, deep rhythm. Geralt is hiccupping through moans from the pressure, fingers wiggling as if he could get a grasp on anything, and for a long moment he’s completely incoherent. It’s just noise pouring from his pink lips, and Jaskier is on the edge as is, and then the moans suddenly coalesce into words.

“Jaskier,” Geralt whimpers out, “Jaskier, please, please, I want – I need – _Jaskier._ ”

Yennefer laughs again and thrusts faster. “Good, Geralt. So good. I want you to scream his name.”

And Geralt _does._ Jaskier’s shaking like a sapling in a hurricane, as Geralt blabbers nonsense interspersed with _his name_ , as if Jaskier is the one fucking him.

The last straw is Yennefer, Yennefer and her nefarious plans.

She stops moving, which makes Geralt make a terrible, bereft noise. She turns and looks at Jaskier again, eyes sparkling, as she leans just forward enough to cup Geralt’s cock.

“Beg him to let you come,” she murmurs, softly, just enough that Jaskier can hear it. Then she’s moving again.

Geralt whines, but it’s hardly a protest because as sound as the sound has left his lips, he’s doing exactly that. “Jaskier, please, _please_ , I’ll – I’ll be good, please just let me – Jaskier – ”

Jaskier comes.

It’s only his teeth buried to the bone in his finger that stops him from groaning aloud. He nearly collapses against the doorjamb and his vision swims, until it finally comes back into focus. Yennefer is still fucking Geralt, cupping his cock, looking straight at Jaskier.

Geralt is still begging.

It takes a moment for Jaskier’s brain to catch up, and when it does, an aftershock that’s nearly just a second orgasm almost knocks him to his knees. His mouth drops open in a silent gasp, and he nods. Yennefer grins.

“Let go, love.”

Geralt _screams_ , and Jaskier has to stumble back, out of the doorway, into his own temporary room, before he just combusts on the spot.

* * *

Jaskier is more than a little shocked when he looks up from his lute to find Yennefer in the crowd, headed straight for him.

“Uh?” he asks, struck dumb for a moment. Yennefer grins.

“Bard,” she says. “I didn’t know you were playing this court.”

Jaskier raises his eyebrow. That’s a blatant lie if he’s ever heard one; Yennefer knows everything about just about every court in the land. Especially the ones she’s going to make an appearance at.

She laughs, at least, which means it was a _joke._ He’s still getting used to that, the way she’ll tease and joke with him. It’s happened much more since the last time he – well, that last time. He hasn’t _caught_ them, since, though, which he’s almost positive is intentional.

Jaskier finally manages to gather his words back to him. “Business or pleasure?” he asks, gesturing widely to the ballroom around them. Yennefer shrugs one shoulder and glances around.

“A bit of both,” she says. “How long will you be performing tonight?”

It’s Jaskier’s turn to shrug. “Until the Lord tells me to stop,” he says. “It’s less of a performance and more just background entertainment.”

Yennefer hums. “Well then,” she says. “That puts a slight damper on my plans.”

Jaskier blinks. “Plans?” he asks, mostly automatically. He and Yennefer are…friends, he supposes, if the word is used a little loosely, and they’re civil, because – well, because of Geralt, of course. But she’s never really talked to him like this, and she’s never made plans that he was privy to, outside of when she helps Geralt’s hunts.

He gets sidetracked for a moment, wondering where Geralt is. They haven’t travelled together for a few months now. Eventually, he knows, they’ll meet back up – they always do – but after the last time, where they travelled together for over a year, it’s a little strange without Geralt at his side.

Yennefer is smirking at him when he comes out of his thoughts and he flushes.

“My plans,” she says, slyly. “With Geralt.”

Jaskier chews his lip. He’s sure she can read his mind, sometimes. He tries not to think too hard on it. “Oh,” he says. “Is he here?”

Yennefer waves a hand. “He will be soon,” she says. “I have some matters to attend to before, but I had hoped you’d be able to join us.”

She gives him a pointed look, mirth in her eyes, and Jaskier doesn’t get it. For a long, long moment, he has no idea why she’s looking at him like, and then –

He feels kind of like he’s been punched in the throat, which is unfortunately something he’s experienced more than once. “ _Oh_ ,” he breathes out, fingers fumbling as he nearly drops his lute.

Yennefer laughs at that, reaching forward and grabbing the lute so it doesn’t fall while he tries to make his hands work properly. At the same time, she leans forward, close enough that he can smell her, feel the heat of her breath, and whispers in his ear.

“Would you be terribly offended if I…convinced the Lord to let you go early?”

Jaskier swallows, vision blurry and filled mostly with Yennefer’s dark hair. “Not at all,” he manages to choke out. “But you may need to _explain_ what you _mean._ ” His heart is racing, and he’s afraid it might turn into palpitations if he doesn’t get some sort of explanation. Or, maybe, drunk. Both is ideal.

Yennefer laughs again, pulling back so she can look at his face again. Her eyes are sparkling, and Jaskier realizes that this is the most _familiar_ they’ve ever been. It does weird things to his heart, and also his cock, though the latter is…rather normal. Not that he’d admit that to Yennefer, though he thinks she probably already knows. He swallows again.

“Don’t worry,” Yennefer says. “I’ll explain everything, but later. You’ve got music to play, and I’ve got a Lord to enchant.”

With that, she turns and vanishes into the crowd. Jaskier strikes a note on his lute, pulls a face, and tries to put Yennefer and Geralt out of his mind. At least for long enough to tune his instrument and play for the gathered nobility.

He’s only barely successful. He plays just fine – luckily for him, his knack for music means that once he knows a song, he _knows_ it – but his mind and heart aren’t in it. The court doesn’t seem to notice, dancing and clapping and singing along the same as every court he’s ever performed at, which is another stroke of luck. He always worries he’ll be booed out. Sure, it’s much less likely to happen among the high-and-mighty, but still.

Yennefer appears as if by magic – ha – just as he’s finishing the last song, a maudlin one he didn’t write, a request by the Lord’s mistress. She keeps her eyes on him the entire time he’s speaking to the other musicians and gathering his things, and when he’s finally alone, headed out of the ballroom, she’s at his side.

He jumps, but only a little. “Don’t do that,” he says. “It’s creepy.”

Yennefer laughs. “Part of the charm, bard.”

They’re quiet for a moment, synced footsteps echoing on the marble floors, before Jaskier sighs.

“Are you going to explain?” he asks.

Yennefer hums, and when he looks to his side, she’s nodding. “Yes, but not out here. Do you have a room?”

Jaskier shrugs. “In the inn outside the gates.”

Yennefer laughs again. “I have one in the castle. Come on.”

Jaskier huffs but follows her all the same. The room isn’t terribly extravagant – not like he’s seen, bedding lords and ladies from here to Nilfgaard – but it’s definitely more ostentatious than his modest inn accommodations. He has to wonder, too, considering Yennefer’s tent on back on the mountain, all those years ago, if she hasn’t done her own redecorating. It doesn’t really matter, in the grand scheme of things, so he doesn’t ask.

“Sit down,” she instructs, gesturing to a low chaise. “And have a drink, you look entirely too tightly wound right now.”

He takes what she hands him and does as he’s told, sitting heavily on the plush chaise and taking a sip. Whatever it is tastes almost too sweet and burns like fire. He scowls, clears his throat, and takes another drink. Yennefer laughs.

“So,” Yennefer begins, perching on an ottoman not far from the chaise. “I do have to ask, how long were you peeping on us before I saw you?”

Jaskier swallows, then takes a large drink of the alcohol. He coughs, looks away from Yennefer, swallows again. “Time-wise, it was a few years; but I – it only happened four times, before. The fifth time was when you saw me.”

Yennefer hums. “I thought so,” she said. “I didn’t know for sure until I spotted you, but something felt…off, a few times.”

Jaskier takes another large swig of the alcohol. Yennefer chuckles.

“You’re not in trouble, bard,” she says. Jaskier still doesn’t look at her. “In fact, my plans are essentially a reward. But we’ll get to that in a moment.”

“Does Geralt know?” The words tumble out of Jaskier’s mouth before he can stop them; he feels the way his face flushes once they’re said, and he finishes his drink. The cup refills of on its own. He blinks at it and takes another drink.

“So you know, I am cutting you off after that cup,” Yennefer says. “I need you clear headed, and I have no idea if Wive’s Tears would hurt or help you.”

Jaskier doesn’t know what any of that means, but he just nods in agreement and takes another drink.

“And the answer to your question is no, he doesn’t know. Yet.”

Jaskier’s heart leaps into his throat and he chokes. He barely manages to set the cup on the floor before he coughs, violently, for a few minutes. Yennefer makes some sort of sound, something almost sympathetic, and reaches forward to rub his back.

He’s too busy trying to suck in a breath to consider how out-of-place that is, and by the time he’s not coughing anymore, Yennefer is talking, so he puts it aside.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that my relationship with Geralt is unconventional,” Yennefer says, blithely, as if that’s not the understatement of the century. Jaskier just blinks at her, still panting a little. “And a little voyeurism hardly scratches the surface of some of the fantasies we’ve played out.”

Jaskier nearly chokes again, manages to clear his throat and not cough again, and spits, “You have a _safeword_ ,” like it’s an accusation. It’s not meant to be. He looks at Yennefer with wide eyes, but she’s just smiling at him, small and genuinely warm. Kind. He swallows and tries very hard not to start rambling.

“Yes, we do,” Yennefer says. “Though Geralt would prefer we didn’t. But, despite my reputation – and his – _I_ prefer we operate in a way that brings no actual harm to anyone involved.”

Jaskier just blinks at her, because there’s a whole lot of information in that sentence to unpack and he feels very unprepared to do it.

“Have you ever had a safeword, Jaskier?”

Jaskier swallows for what feels the hundredth time. “A few times,” he says. “Never a dedicated one.”

Yennefer hums. “I don’t think my plans tonight would require you to have one, but would you be comfortable using ragamuffin, just in case?”

“I – yes, that’s fine.” Jaskier tries very hard not to think, lest he get lost entirely in his thoughts and miss whatever else Yennefer has to say. “Ragamuffin.”

Yennefer smiles again, that same warm, kind one from before, and Jaskier feels so off-kilter he thinks he might fall over. He’d assume the alcohol was drugged, but despite Yennefer’s mentioned reputation, he knows she wouldn’t do something like that to him. Not anymore, at least.

“Good,” she says, quiet but sure, and Jaskier’s cock throbs. An unfamiliar heat spreads from his spine to the tips of his fingers and he shivers. He wonders if this is how Geralt feels, when she tells him that.

Yennefer’s expression is still warm and…fond, when he comes back to reality, but there’s something calculating in it, too. She hums and steps a little closer, reaching out. The way she does it is – tentative, Jaskier thinks is the word. Her hand hovers over his hair, and it takes a moment for him to realize that she’s asking permission.

He nods, just once, and Yennefer smiles again. Her hands pushes through his hair, long fingers sharp-nailed but gentle, and he shivers. He doesn’t quite realize his eyes have fluttered shut until Yennefer says his name, and her voice has that odd quality to it, the one that makes her seem in control.

Jaskier finds he’s just fine with her being in control of him. It’s an unfamiliar sensation, but a comfortable one, nonetheless. He opens his eyes.

Yennefer keeps stroking through his hair. “We’ll have to investigate this in more detail, later,” she says. “But for tonight – I have just one more question, and then I’ll explain.”

Jaskier nods but is careful not to dislodge her hand. From the way her smile quirks into a smirk, he thinks she knows that.

“Do you trust me, Jaskier?”

Jaskier hums. “Yes,” he answers. It’s true. Sure, they’re only loosely friends, and he rarely sees her, and she’s, well, a terrifying, gorgeous sorceress who could scorch him where he stands. But. He’s known her for years; she’s never actually hurt him, not really; Geralt is definitely head-over-heels in love with her, and he trusts Geralt’s judgement for the most part; and, last but not least, she’s _helpful._ Of course he expects her to help Geralt, to heal his wounds and to make his potions, but she’s helped Jaskier, too. A handful of useful potions for muscle aches, a wonderful set of magical strings for his lute, a bed to sleep on when she houses Geralt and they’re travelling together.

“Good.” Yennefer takes her hand out of his hair and sits back down, though the ottoman is closer now. “Geralt will be arriving sometime soon. I plan to speak to him privately, before anything happens, but there won’t be any secrets. You understand?”

Jaskier misses her touch. He swallows back the whine and the panic-filled thoughts, and nods. “Yes.” Geralt will know about his voyeurism. Geralt will know he’s here. It’s terrifying, but it’s almost…distant, with Yennefer sounding so sure before him. Her next words only cement the feeling.

“He’ll decide if my plan goes forward, but I have very little concern. He’ll want to do this,” Yennefer’s smirks again, and she looks off toward the windows for a moment. “He’ll be…apprehensive, I’m sure, but willing.”

“What are you doing?”

Yennefer looks back to him. “We,” she corrects. “It’s been a while since Geralt and I have seen one another. Too long. He’ll be itching to be bound, like you saw before. To be taken complete control of. I want you to help me do it.”

Jaskier’s mouth is suddenly desert-dry, and his attempt at words, at first, is just a garbled choke. Yennefer doesn’t laugh, though she does smile just a little, and waits. Eventually, with the help of the alcohol, Jaskier manages to sputter out a reply. “How can I help?”

Yennefer’s small smile turns into a grin. “I’ll guide you. Tonight, Geralt will be under my control and technically, so will you – in a different fashion. Later, we can try other things. But for now….”

Jaskier nods. He doesn’t really need her to finish. She’ll put Geralt in that soft space, the one Jaskier has seen him in with his own eyes, and she’ll also tell Jaskier what to do. To help. He downs the rest of his drink, only slightly miffed about his cut off.

“Do I need to do anything before he arrives?”

Yennefer shrugs. “Not really. You might want to change into something more comfortable, but that’s all.”

“I don’t have any clothes here,” Jaskier laments. “I would have to go to the inn.”

Yennefer chuckles, and with a flick of her hand, a portal opens to their side. “Go on, grab something, I’ll keep it open.”

Jaskier huffs. “Magic,” he mumbles. “Okay, I’ll be back.”

He hates portals, but closing his eyes before he steps in helps. He doesn’t open his eyes again until he feels solid wood under his feet, and then he springs into action.

He doesn’t think he’s ever gotten dressed so fast, even when his life has been threatened by cuckolded partners. He strips out of his finery, tossing it to the bed to be dealt with later, and digs for something simple and plain. He doesn’t have much that fits that description, which is unfortunate, but he has a few things.

One of them is one of Geralt’s tunics that he accidentally took, slightly too big in the shoulders and waist, but he pauses. He considers, for a moment, and then puts it on. Soft breeches follow, and he ducks back through the portal.

Yennefer is still where she was sitting when he left. The portal closes behind him.

When she sees his shirt, she laughs, but it’s fond and merry. “Oh, he’ll love that.”

Jaskier flushes, but doesn’t mention it, instead just collapsing back into the chaise. “You’re sure he’ll be okay with this?”

Yennefer hums. “Of course. Don’t you remember last time?”

Jaskier shudders, because yes, he does, and it’s been on his mind every time he’s touched himself since. He bites his lip and just nods. Yennefer chuckles.

“We’ve done similar since,” she says. “He’s in love with you, you know.”

Jaskier laughs. He can’t help it. Geralt cares for him, he knows that – they’ve been friends for over a decade, closing in on two. He’s not stupid. Geralt does care for him, but – love? Love, like he has for Yennefer? Absolutely not. Jaskier is hopelessly in love with the Witcher, yes, but he’s not a complete moron, and he’s not generally maudlin. And he knows that sexual desire is leagues different than love. Look at all of his affairs, for a crystal-clear example.

Yennefer huffs. “He is,” she insists. “You’ll see it. Tonight. He’s not able to hold back, when I take him under.”

Jaskier can kind of believe that – that Geralt can’t hold back when Yennefer handles him. He’s seen it. Geralt is, as a rule, an extremely stoic man. But Jaskier has witnessed a completely different side of the Witcher, when he’s spied on him with Yennefer. Lax and accepting, and desperate, _wanting_. He’s seen Geralt hurting, and vulnerable, but nothing like the way he is under the sorceress’ hands. It’s not magic, at least not the usual kind Yennefer uses, but it is magical, in a way.

“We’ll see,” Jaskier mumbles. “When is he arriving?”

Yennefer’s gaze goes distant for a moment. “Should be reaching the gates soon.”

“You said you wanted to speak to him privately,” Jaskier stares at his thumbs. “Before?”

Yennefer hums. “Yes. I’ll worry about that; you can stay here. I’ll have to go to the gates to meet him anyway.”

Jaskier nods and lets himself melt further into the chaise, trying to ignore the warring excitement and anxiety in his chest. He can feel Yennefer’s eyes on him, but he ignores it the best he can, too. There’s already too much going on in his head without adding the way she stares to it.

After a few minutes, she stands. “He’s here,” she says. “One more question.”

“Hmm?” Jaskier tilts his head toward her but still doesn’t make eye contact.

“I can assume how far you’d like to go with Geralt – and I’ll be checking in, to be sure, anyway – but. What about with me?”

Jaskier has to process the question for a moment, not sure what’s she asking. When he gets it, though, he finally looks at her again, a little incredulous.

“You haven’t noticed?” he asks. He’s stunned, and rightfully so, he thinks.

His obsession with Geralt is obvious, he’s been informed, and he _knows_. But his obsession with Yennefer is the same, maybe a little more subtle because he’s also slightly terrified of her, but still.

Yennefer blinks, then smiles. Jaskier’s sure she’ll turn to leave, go to Geralt, but instead she steps forward, leans down, and kisses him.

It’s brief, and soft, but leaves Jaskier reeling all the same. Yennefer stays close for a moment after the kiss breaks, her eyes practically luminous this close. Jaskier swallows hard.

“I’ll be back with Geralt soon,” Yennefer murmurs.

Jaskier swallows again and nods. “Alright,” he whispers, and she’s still so close he can feel her exhale on his lips, and he shudders. She smiles and leans back up, and then she’s gone. Jaskier resists the urge to get up and pace, but does sit up, leaning against the back of the chaise and practicing his breathing.

He doesn’t really keep track of the minutes, but it seems like a stunningly short time later that Yennefer is returning, Geralt close behind her.

Jaskier sucks in a breath.

Geralt doesn’t look particularly different than usual, but it’s been a handful of months since Jaskier has seen the Witcher, and he’s just as taken as he always is. Geralt’s hair is clean and combed neatly back into its tie; he’s wearing his usual leathers, the black contrasting harshly against his pale skin and white hair; he’s not wearing his armor, but his swords are still strapped to his back. The Witcher stops when he sees Jaskier on the chaise, his face practically lighting up. Jaskier doesn’t miss the way his pupils dilate, too, and he shivers a little before he stands.

“Geralt,” he says, softly.

Geralt smiles, a small thing, but a smile, nonetheless. “Jaskier.”

Yennefer, still to Geralt’s side, hums. “He agreed, exactly like I said he would, bard.”

Jaskier barely resists the urge to stick his tongue out at the sorceress, and she laughs, which just further cements his theory that she can read his mind in some fashion. He huffs instead and stops just outside their bubble of personal space. It’s quiet and tense but only for a moment.

Yennefer hums again. “Geralt, love,” she says, and the Witcher turns to her immediately. Jaskier stays where he is, watching, a delirious little thrill running through him when he realizes that this time, he’s been invited. Also, he’s much, much closer to them this time, and can see much more.

Such as the way Geralt bites his lip when Yennefer tilts her head at him, the way his pupils dilate ever larger. The small shake in his hands when Yennefer reaches up to cup his face. Jaskier swallows and tries very hard not to blink. There’s a short moment where Geralt and Yennefer just look at one another, but then Yennefer shifts up, just slightly, and like a practiced dance, Geralt leans down to meet her and they’re kissing.

He’s seen this before, yes. But this close, it’s an entirely different experience. He can see the way Yennefer dominates the kiss, the slackness of Geralt’s jaw as it deepens, the little wet-pink flashes of tongue between them as the angle changes. His dick, already half-hard, is rapidly becoming near uncomfortable.

They break apart with an absolutely filthy noise, and Jaskier doesn’t bother to hold in the way that makes him groan. Geralt makes a sound in reply, something low and rumbling.

Yennefer, for her part, smirks. “Love,” she says, and Geralt’s attention is back on her. “Kiss him.”

Jaskier barely has a chance to consider everything about the moment – Geralt, looking hungrily between them, Yennefer ordering the Witcher to kiss him, the way Geralt turns to obey immediately – before Geralt is on him. His lips are soft, a little chapped, and he tastes like ale and coffee both. Jaskier groans, right into Geralt’s mouth, and presses forward until Geralt has to catch him, arms tight around his waist.

The kiss goes on for a long while, neither of them really breaking apart even for air, just huffing half-breaths through their noses. Jaskier keeps a smidge of his attention on Yennefer, knows she’s watching them, and can’t help the little whimper that leaks onto Geralt’s tongue.

Finally, Yennefer hums, murmurs, “Enough,” and they break apart. Jaskier is panting, and Geralt is close to it; the black of his pupils has nearly eclipsed the yellow of his irises, and his lips are swollen nearly red.

“I could watch that for hours,” Yennefer admits, hunger plain in her voice. “But I have plans.”

Geralt makes a strained, desperate noise, and turns back to her. “Yen.”

Yennefer smiles. “On the bed, naked, love,” she gestures toward it. “Jaskier, come with me for a moment.”

They obey in tandem; Geralt beelines toward the bed, stripping as he goes, his clothes leaving a trail on the floor, and Jaskier turns to the direction Yennefer is facing to see where she goes. There’s a small trunk to the side of the bed, Jaskier realizes for the first time, and his heart speeds up at the possibilities of what is in that trunk. The first thing she pulls out is rope, and she hands the large bundle to Jaskier. He holds it tightly and waits, either for the next thing she hands him or instruction.

He whines a little when he sees her pull out that wooden toy and leather harness. She winks at him.

They return to the bed to find Geralt already kneeling, facing the foot of the bed. He’s in his usual meditating position, but not meditating; his eyes are open, and he tracks their every movement through the room. He’s obviously not – how did Yennefer phrase it? – _under_ , yet, but Jaskier can see the anticipation in his tightly-wound muscles, the way he’s chewing his lip.

Jaskier really wants to kiss him again.

“Go ahead,” Yennefer says. That seals it, she has to be able to read his mind. The implications of that are as hot as they are horrific. “I might make use of your hands, but I’ll do the tying.”

Jaskier nods his agreement and knees his way up onto the bed, until he’s knelt in front of Geralt, close enough that their thighs are brushing and Jaskier can feel it when Geralt breathes. He stays there for a moment, just _looking._ Geralt blinks, slowly, and lets him. Looks back, still chewing his lip. On an impulse, Jaskier reaches up to tug his lip out from between Geralt’s sharp teeth, soothing his thumb over the angry red marks.

Geralt drops his mouth open like an invitation, and Jaskier groans. He shoves his thumb over Geralt’s tongue, watches, rapt, when Geralt’s eyelids flutter.

“Fuck,” Jaskier huffs, pulling his hand back. He replaces it barely a second later with his mouth.

The kiss is slow, but deep. Jaskier brings his hands up, one to Geralt’s jaw and the other to his neck. Geralt seems to melt, just a little, swaying forward just as Yennefer climbs onto the bed with them.

“Arms, love,” she says, and Geralt breaks the kiss to take a heaving breath before putting his arms behind him. Jaskier moves his lips over Geralt’s cheekbone, his jaw, his ear, listening intently as the Witcher’s breathing catches and starts in fits. The only indication Jaskier has of what Yennefer is doing is the soft whisper of rope in her hands, and the way Geralt’s chest slowly pushes further out as he’s forced to keep his arms back by the ties.

Jaskier doesn’t reinitiate the kiss, instead just moving his hands to roam over Geralt’s body. Geralt shivers, but it’s small, not enough to disrupt Yennefer’s work. When Jaskier meets his eyes, it’s clear that Geralt is already slipping a little, eyes going glassy as he slowly relaxes into the ropes around his arms.

“Very good, love,” Yennefer praises. “How does it feel?”

Geralt makes a soft, growling noise. “Good,” he answers. “More, please.”

“Of course. Legs next. Kneel up.”

This gets more complicated, Yennefer getting on and off the bed as she ties Geralt’s legs, the same sort of decorative pattern Jaskier saw before, with functional ties that keep Geralt’s legs to the bed.

Yennefer makes a specific sort of humming noise when she finishes. Nonverbal question, Jaskier figures, when Geralt breathes out, “Good,” in response.

Jaskier kisses Geralt again as Yennefer starts twining rope around his chest. Yennefer grabs his hands a few times, pressing them over rope, and Jaskier follows, keeps the rope steady under his hands. Geralt, for his part, is starting to go a little boneless, swaying between them slightly. Jaskier lets him settle forward, so he’s supporting the Witcher’s weight, and trails kisses along the tendon in his neck.

He’s not sure how long it takes. He doesn’t much mind. He keeps his hands where Yennefer puts them, or he uses them to trace over Geralt’s body; his chest, his hips, his shoulders, muscles bulging from his arms pulled back. At one point, he scrapes gentle teeth over Geralt’s earlobe, and gets a whimper for it. He does it again and Geralt lists a little closer, gives a soft, throaty sound. Jaskier tries it on his neck, just under his jaw, and gets a breathy groan; he licks down to where Geralt’s neck and shoulder meet and bites, not exactly softly, and is rewarded with the feeling of Geralt’s cock twitching wildly between them.

Yennefer laughs, distantly, and pets through Jaskier’s hair. When he looks up, he finds she’s petting through Geralt’s, too, the tie long gone.

Jaskier surfaces from the odd haze he’d fallen into and turns to Yennefer. He keeps his hands on Geralt.

“So good,” Yennefer says. “The both of you.” He notices that she’s put the harness on.

Geralt groans and Jaskier hums, tilting his head further into Yennefer’s touch. She smirks and grips, slightly, just enough to pull. Jaskier’s never heard himself make a noise like the one that spills out of his mouth. Geralt’s breathing gets a little more ragged, and Yennefer’s eyes go dark.

“Yen,” Geralt mumbles. Jaskier glances at him, finds that Geralt’s eyes are flicking between them again, that same sort of desperate look on his face that Jaskier has seen before.

“Yes, love?” Yennefer doesn’t look away from Jaskier, pulling his hair a little harder, making him whine.

“I want to watch you,” Geralt says, words a little broken. And then, hesitantly, “…please, touch him.”

“Of course,” Yennefer agrees, with a smile. “Jaskier?”

“ _Please_ ,” Jaskier gasps out, head spinning from the idea alone. Before he can think it through any further, he reaches up and palms her neck, not demanding, but questioning.

She laughs and leans forward to kiss him.

It’s a good thing he’s kneeling on the bed. His knees feel weak, and his heart is rabbiting in his chest. Yennefer’s tongue is clever in his mouth, immediately taking control, and her hand petting down his chest to his hips only makes him dizzier. He whines into her mouth and she breaks the kiss to laugh again. He would have complained if she hadn’t chosen that exact moment to curl a hand around his cock, stroking lightly.

“ _Yennefer_ ,” he gasps, swaying a little.

“Jaskier,” she murmurs, and the sound of his name in that voice – soft and gentle, but commanding, _awed_ , is nearly enough to send him over the edge. He grits his teeth and closes his eyes tightly to block out the sight of her until he gets himself under control.

When he opens his eyes again, she stops touching him. He makes a small, bereft noise, but she just tugs him slowly off the bed – giving Geralt time to adjust, to hold himself. When he’s standing again, she hands him a bottle of oil.

“Will you?” she asks, and Jaskier has to swallow the sudden flood of saliva in his mouth.

“Any specific instructions?” he asks back, a little quietly, taking the oil and holding it tight.

Yennefer shakes her head and steps around him, kneeling on the bed to replace Jaskier at Geralt’s font. Jaskier climbs back onto the bed at the Witcher’s back.

He can’t resist a little exploring. He strokes his hand down Geralt’s spine, fingers twining with the rope around his wrists when he gets there. Geralt sighs, then moans.

“Jaskier, please,” he gasps out. Jaskier bites his lip bloody and pours some oil into his hand, warming it a little before shuffling closer.

Unlike the time he watched Yennefer do this, he doesn’t push Geralt forward. Instead, he scoots in until his chest is pressed to Geralt’s arms, his clean hand hooked around the Witcher’s shoulder to pull him back.

Geralt comes like Jaskier is the one holding his strings, and it sends a dark thrill through him. Geralt’s head tips back to rest on Jaskier’s shoulder, and Jaskier is treated to the gorgeous line of his throat, peppered by scars. He kisses along some of them, paying special attention to a particularly large one that stretches from his jaw to his collarbone. While he’s laving attention over Geralt’s throat, Yennefer is tracing the shapes on his chest, and Geralt is shivering between them, each breath a small whine.

Jaskier takes pity and, the oil warmed enough, slips one slick finger between his cheeks to massage his hole. Geralt gasps, then moans, turning his head toward Jaskier. His lips find Jaskier’s jaw, and he mouths at it sloppily. Jaskier slowly pushes one finger inside, gasping at the tight heat that greets him. Geralt just whimpers, his teeth scraping the corner of Jaskier’s jaw. He doesn’t mind at all.

He goes slow, fingering Geralt open, but not nearly as slowly as Yennefer had the time he watched. Geralt is panting like he’s been running by two fingers, nearly incoherent by three, and Jaskier feels like he might just melt out of his skin.

When he looks up, he makes eye contact with Yennefer. She’s still touching Geralt, tracing scars and flicking over his nipples, but with one hand, she’s stroking the wooden cock. Her eyes are _burning_ , and Jaskier very suddenly wants her to bend him over, fuck him with it while Geralt watches, tied up.

He swallows. Another time, he thinks. He’ll see what they think of it later.

Geralt’s incoherent moaning slowly turns into words the longer Jaskier fingerfucks him, the breathy whines morphing into Jaskier’s name, into Yennefer’s. The word _please_ interspersed like a prayer.

Yennefer smirks and trails her hand down to grasp Geralt’s cock, thick and heavy between his legs. Jaskier’s cock throbs in sympathy when Geralt cries out.

“What do you want, love?” Yennefer asks. Geralt makes a small, whimpery sound and arches closer to her touch, but seems to try and gather himself.

It takes a moment, but neither Jaskier nor Yennefer try to force it, simply continuing their slow ministrations as they wait. Jaskier’s practically high; from the power he has over Geralt right now, from the power Yennefer has over them both.

“Fuck me,” Geralt finally gasps. “Please, Yen – Jask – I need – _please._ ”

Yennefer hums. Her hand slips down, from the base of Geralt’s cock and over his balls, then back, until her fingers are teasing at where Jaskier’s knuckles are stretching him open. Jaskier and Geralt both whine. Yennefer doesn’t push in, but instead just flickers her fingers around the stretched muscle.

“Who do you want where, love?” she asks.

Geralt groans, a full-body shudder rocking the bed slightly. “Want,” he pants, “want you in my ass. Yen. Please.”

Jaskier curses, thrusting his fingers inside Geralt roughly – punishment, reward, he doesn’t know. Geralt keens, though, hands scrabbling at Jaskier’s stomach where they rest tied behind him. Jaskier just curls his fingers a little – not quite the right angle, but he can still do it. When he feels that swollen nub under his knuckles, he pushes forward, rubbing the sharp bones into it mercilessly.

Geralt keens again, and Yennefer laughs, but it sounds throaty and wrecked. “You’ll make him come like that,” she says, but it’s not a _stop_ , so Jaskier doesn’t stop.

“Do you want to come, Geralt?” he asks instead, right into the Witcher’s ear. Something fierce has suddenly come over him, and he wants to see Geralt fall apart. He wants to see the Witcher come, and then he wants to switch places with Yennefer and choke the man on his cock. “Come on my fingers, so you can focus better on me and Yennefer filling you up?”

Geralt is twitching now, as much as he can, head rolling back and forth on Jaskier’s shoulder as he mumbles and groans. “Please – yes – I – please, Jask – Yen – _fuck_.”

Jaskier glances up to Yennefer. She smirks and nods.

“Then let go, love,” she says. “Let Jaskier make you come.”

Geralt’s clenches down so hard that Jaskier’s sure he’s broken a finger. He doesn’t give a fuck, just keeps moving as much as he can, wringing Geralt dry as the Witcher writhes and cries and begs for more. After about a minute, Jaskier slows, gentles, then pulls his hand out. He brings his clean hand up to Geralt’s face, tips him back and kisses his nose gently.

“So good,” he mumbles, automatically. “So fucking perfect, Geralt.”

Geralt shudders and whines. “F-fuck me. Please.”

Jaskier kisses him again, his mouth this time, entirely too chaste for the moment, then pulls back. Geralt sways for a second but balances quickly enough. Yennefer is still smirking when Jaskier looks to her. She doesn’t move, at first, as Jaskier comes back to the foot of the bed. Instead, she waits until he climbs back up to grab his hair and kiss him, deep and harsh and mind-bendingly good.

Geralt whines. “ _Please_.”

Yennefer leaves Jaskier with one more nip to his bottom lip before she slides off the bed and then back on, behind Geralt. Jaskier doesn’t wait for her; he threads fingers through the ropes crossing Geralt’s chest and starts pulling him forward. Geralt lets him, eyes wide and glassy, mouth open, until he’s almost lined up with Jaskier’s cock. Geralt tenses, holds himself up, and Jaskier groans, pushing a hand through the Witcher’s hair.

Yennefer has already slicked her cock by the time Jaskier looks away from the way Geralt is trying to catch the head of his.

“You remember the signal?” she asks.

Geralt grunts, still trying to stretch just enough to flick his tongue against Jaskier’s cock. Yennefer laughs a little, but swats at Geralt’s ass, and he finally twists his hands in their bindings. Jaskier can’t see which Sign it is from where he is, but then he sees the tiny flame. Just enough to catch attention, not enough to burn Yennefer or the ropes at his wrist.

Jaskier pets through Geralt’s hair again. “Very good,” he says. Geralt groans, and Yennefer smiles at them both.

“Ready, love?” Yennefer asks, teasing the head of her wooden cock against Geralt’s hole. Geralt whines, letting his head fall for a moment as he pants, tries to push his hips back.

“Please, Yen,” he rumbles, and Yennefer takes pity, pushing inside slowly. Geralt makes a high, keening noise the entire time, until she’s in to the hilt, and then he’s back to panting, stretching his neck forward to try and reach Jaskier.

Jaskier waits for a moment, looking back up to Yennefer. She’s gasping too, eyes fluttering. When she finally looks at him, her eyes are dark and she’s flushed, and Jaskier’s cock twitches, brushing just slightly against Geralt’s lips. It makes the Witcher moan. Finally, Yennefer nods, and Jaskier shuffles a few inches forward.

Geralt’s mouth finds him quickly. Jaskier hisses and jerks forward, just slightly, but Geralt doesn’t signal, and Yennefer doesn’t say anything. When Geralt hollows his cheeks and sucks, Jaskier does it again, a little harder this time, and Geralt moans.

The vibration is something else. Jaskier whimpers and grabs at Geralt’s hair, too hard, pulling, and Geralt moans again. Yennefer laughs, dark and breathy, and starts to move.

At first, it’s slow. Geralt is whining whenever his mouth isn’t full of Jaskier, and rumbling moans when it is; Yennefer seems to be luxuriating in the feeling of Geralt, eyes nearly shut and mouth open. But eventually, she speeds up, the movement rocking Geralt back and forth so Jaskier doesn’t even have to move.

He finds out quickly that Geralt apparently doesn’t have a gag reflex, and it’s only a sharp tug on his own balls that keeps him from coming at the realization. One particularly hard thrust from Yennefer sends Geralt all the way down, til his nose is touching Jaskier’s belly. She keeps him there, eyes burning into Jaskier, but Jaskier doesn’t look back. He’s transfixed by the sight of Geralt, eyes shut, face covered in tears and spit; captivated by the sensation of Geralt’s throat working as he swallows against his cock.

It isn’t until Geralt’s whines start to take on a desperate edge that Yennefer grabs Jaskier’s attention again.

She says his name softly, but there’s command in it, and he looks up immediately. She’s smiling, just a little, and Jaskier flushes, then grunts when Geralt swallows tightly around the head of his cock. “He wants you to come in his mouth,” she says.

Jaskier jerks, and Geralt chokes just a little, but there’s no Igni; instead, Geralt just moans, low and muffled by Jaskier’s cock jammed into his throat.

Yennefer laughs, fucking into Geralt just a little harder. “C’mon, bard,” she says, a teasing edge to her voice, and that’s all it takes. Jaskier’s hips stutter as he comes, coating Geralt’s throat and tongue in his spend. Geralt just whimpers, swallowing and chasing after Jaskier when he pulls back. Jaskier allows it, until he’s softening and too sensitive to stand it.

“Fuck,” he hisses, using a grip on the ropes crossed over Geralt’s chest to lift him just a little. Both he and Yennefer groan at the change in angle, and Jaskier grins. The kiss he plants on Geralt is messy and uncoordinated, but he doesn’t seem to mind, and Yennefer moans at the sight.

“Please,” Geralt finally manages to gasp, right against Jaskier’s mouth. “ _Please_.”

“What, love?” Yennefer asks, leaning forward, close enough that Jaskier can feel her breath. He turns his head and finds her mouth, whimpering into the kiss when she nips at his tongue.

“Want to come again,” Geralt pants once Yennefer breaks their kiss. “Please.”

Jaskier snakes a hand between them, grasping Geralt’s cock where it’s throbbing and stroking lightly. Geralt whines, broken apart and loud, and starts begging. He’s mostly incoherent, but there’s enough of _please_ and their names interspersed in the whimpering that Jaskier gets the gist.

He quirks an eyebrow at Yennefer and she laughs breathlessly in reply. “Go ahead, love,” she says. Like that first time, as if she’s flipped a switch, Geralt does. His cock throbs even harder in Jaskier’s hand, and he keens, hips jerking erratically as he makes a mess of Jaskier’s hand and his own stomach.

Jaskier strokes him through it, mumbling nonsense praise against his ear as he comes down. Yennefer hasn’t stopped moving behind Geralt, though her rhythm is shot. Geralt doesn’t safeword, doesn’t signal, but he’s whimpering each time Yennefer thrusts in. Oversensitive, probably. Jaskier just strokes his wet hand up Geralt’s stomach and chest, heedless of the mess, and keeps murmuring to him.

“Fuck,” Yennefer hisses, and then tenses, pressed tightly to Geralt’s back, before she slumps a little and laughs. Jaskier groans at the realization that she just came, and Geralt’s in the same boat, judging by the broken growl that rumbles out of his throat.

“Mm, you’re both so very good.” Yennefer slowly backs away from Geralt, an obscene wet sound following that makes both Jaskier and Geralt shudder. “Geralt, love.”

“Hmm,” Geralt acknowledges, the sound muffled with his face pressed into Jaskier’s neck.

“How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Geralt answers. “Want…a little longer.”

Yennefer hums and nods. Jaskier doesn’t know what Geralt means, but figures Yennefer does, so he doesn’t have to worry. He turns his attention back to Geralt, where the Witcher is sort of listing sleepily into him. He kisses Geralt’s temple.

“So good,” he whispers, bringing his clean hand up to push through Geralt’s hair. The Witcher practically purrs, so Jaskier keeps doing it.

“I’m going to untie your legs so you can lie down, love,” Yennefer says, softly enough not to startle them. Jaskier turns and finds that she’s out of the harness now. He figures “a little longer” was referring to the ropes, then.

Geralt makes a vaguely agreeable noise into Jaskier’s neck but doesn’t say anything. Yennefer smiles and sets to work on getting Geralt’s legs untied.

“On his stomach,” she murmurs, clearly intended for Jaskier, once she’s got the rope undone. Jaskier nods and slowly moves backward, holding Geralt’s weight as he carefully lowers the Witcher to the bed. Geralt goes easily, humming contentedly. Once he’s safely laid down, he sort of sprawls – at least, as much as he can – and Jaskier chuckles, shifting to the side so he can sit and keep running his hand through the Witcher’s hair.

Yennefer sits to the opposite side, stroking over Geralt’s back around the ropes. No one speaks for a long while, and it’s surprisingly comfortable. Eventually, though, Geralt starts to shift, and makes an uncomfortable noise.

“Yen,” he says, and Yennefer immediately starts untying his arms. Jaskier helps where he can, tugging at the rope near him when it goes loose, getting it looser. Yennefer smiles at him as he does. Between them, they get the rope untied quickly. Geralt grunts and shifts up, onto his arms, and Yennefer pulls the mass of loose rope out from under him. Geralt collapses back to the bed the second the rope is gone.

Jaskier chuckles again and starts rubbing his arms, knowing the blood flow is probably lackluster after the time tied. Geralt groans, a happy noise, and presses closer to the attention.

“Good,” Yennefer says, and when Jaskier looks up, she’s looking right at him. He flushes, but tips his head in acknowledgment, and keeps massaging Geralt’s arms. The comfortable silence returns, only occasionally broken up by Geralt making content noises as Yennefer and Jaskier both run their hands over him. He’s making that purring noise again.

Jaskier doesn’t know how long they’ve been in that quiet afterglow before Geralt breaks it. He finds he doesn’t mind how long they were there, but he also doesn’t mind Geralt grunting and turning over under their hands. He slowly sits up, looking at Yennefer and then Jaskier.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. Yennefer hums, some sort of acceptance, and Jaskier just leans forward to kiss him, because he’s allowed. The kiss is soft and slow and surprisingly chaste, but Jaskier doesn’t miss the way Yennefer’s gaze seems to burn into them.

He breaks the kiss with a nuzzle to Geralt’s nose that makes the Witcher give a small smile, and turns to Yennefer.

She’s smiling, too. “C’mere,” she murmurs, and leans across Geralt’s chest to kiss Jaskier. It’s just as soft and chaste as his kiss with Geralt. Geralt makes a small noise, something halfway between a purr and a groan, and it makes Yennefer smile against Jaskier’s mouth. When they break apart, she turns and kisses Geralt, too.

“You two look good together,” Geralt murmurs, when Yennefer pulls back. Jaskier flushes all over again and Yennefer grins.

“That almost sounds like you want something,” Yennefer says. She looks at Jaskier, and there’s a playful twinkle in her eye. He can’t help but return her grin.

Geralt groans softly. “Too many things,” he confirms. “He’s gotten to watch us. I want to watch you.”

Jaskier blushes even darker at the mention of his creeping, but Geralt winks at him.

Yennefer hums, sounding thoughtful. “Jaskier?” she asks. He perks up and looks toward her, ignoring the way it makes Geralt chuckle. “What do you think?”

“I’m onboard for literally anything,” he says, because it’s the truth and they may as well know it.

Geralt huffs a surprised laugh at that, and Yennefer just smirks, wicked and very clearly planning. Jaskier shudders, but it’s definitely not in anything except excitement.

“Let’s get some sleep,” Yennefer says, though the look on her face says that sleep is the last thing on her mind. “We’ll discuss this more in the morning, hm?”

Jaskier shudders again. He can’t wait for morning.

**Author's Note:**

> good _lord_ i hope this isn't terrible
> 
> please validate me! p l e a s e
> 
> this has been a really shitty month and i need the dopamine from comments, i beg you


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